The Metaphorical Resonances of the London Underground

My last day in London was pretty wonderful. I didn't do anything dramatic or expensive or crazy. I just
hit up all the old familiar places. I walked around the city that I'd come to think of as mine. I said goodbye to the wonderful host family that put up with me for several months. I had a last drink at our favorite pub with all my favorite London people. I said a tearful goodbye to my roommate who literally could not have been a more perfect match for me.

On Hampstead Heath

I spent my last day with my friends Katie and Jessica. We did things that we never took the time to do usually, like stand in the incredibly long line at King's Cross to get our picture taken at Platform 9 3/4 (totally worth it). We wandered around our lovely city, enjoying the fact that we knew our way around without a map and that we could navigate the tube with little stress. We looked out over Hampstead Heath at the iconic view of London.

Last selfie with my roommate

The fourteen of us who were part of the program got together at The Junction, our standard meeting
place throughout the semester for one last hurrah. We were minus a few people who had to leave early-I witnessed the saddest goodbye of all, when my friends Jessica and Megan said goodbye in the Harrow on the Hill tubes station. To say there were tears is an understatement. Later, after our night at the Junction in which there were many toasts and an impromptu piano sing along (piano performance by Denae McGaha), the rest of us said goodbye at that same tube station.

Goodbyes at The Junction

To say goodbye at a Tube station was pretty metaphorically resonant of us. Trains taking us to other places. The Metropolitan line-the first train line that we took together and the last. The train line that meant we were headed home.

I know London has been there for hundreds of years and will, in all likelihood, be there for hundreds more. But I won't ever be able to recapture those specific four months spent in a place I loved with people I grew to love. That's okay. I was lucky.

Daily Commute

A short photo essay about my daily commute in to school, as it's such an essentially London experience. There are a dozen ways for me to get in to the city, but this is the route I take most often! (note: this was taken on a good day. A bad day involves signal failure, train delays and a lot of really fast walking)

                        8:45 am                                                             8:46 am                                                             8:55 am
      Leaving the house (right on time)                 My street on a rainy day                                The footpath to the station

9:00 am
My home station: Northwick Park

                        9:04 am                                                              9:05 am                                                             9:07 am
Just in time for the all stations to Aldgate           The best line is the Met line                   Free newspaper (learn, America)

9:35 am
King's Cross/St. Pancras station - The majesty of St. Pancras never fails to make me pause

                                              9:40 am                                                                                                  9:42 am
                                Beautiful tree lined street                                                Sometimes on nice days I stroll through the
                                                                                                                                              public park on my way in
      

                                           9:47 am                                                                                                  9:50 am
       No unsupervised adults allowed in Coram's Fields                                              Best street in London! 

9:51 am
Home, sweet home, with nine minutes to spare!

Tea-ventures and Abbey Road

Sometimes it's fun to just spend a weekend doing tourist things. I spend so much of my time here actively resisting looking or acting like a tourist that going into the tourist "zones" is sometimes a relief. I can pull my camera out without furtively checking over my shoulder to make sure I'm not ruining my Londoner facade.

Our host mum graciously bought Jordanne and I a voucher for a full afternoon tea in Maida Vale, which was delicious. A full tea, for the uneducated, typically means sandwiches, scones, dessert, and of course, tea. Sometimes the fancier ones have more food, plus alcohol. Our was perfect and delicious and I felt very fancy and proper eating it.

Afterwards we meandered over to Abbey Road, which is one very posh neighborhood away from Maida Vale. Like, seriously, I now have about six different dream houses in that area. It was incredible. I want to go back just to drool over the beautiful architecture. The Brits do fancy houses better than us Americans-they go for history rather than size and newness. The best houses are the old ones, not the McMansions.

Once on Abbey Road Jordanne and I stopped at every zebra crossing (that's crosswalk to you uninitiated) and were like, "Is this it? It can't be it. There has to be more fanfare." Eventually we found it, right outside the famed studios. People have left tributes on the wall outside which were alternately touching and hilarious. The studio is still a work space (we saw a guy with a trombone go in), which makes me happy as I know it's suffered some financial troubles.

And yes, I did the walk.

My Weekend With Maylen

There was (unfortunately) significantly less Eddie Redmayne in my weekend with Maylen than in his week with Marilyn, but it was spectacular nonetheless. Maylen is currently studying away in Grenada, Spain, and we decided to do a little inter country exchange. So she came down for the weekend and I'm headed to Spain with my roommate Jordanne for spring break.

I made sure that Maylen got the English essentials: fish and chips, tea, and a visit to a pub (the Sherlock Holmes pub, so even better). We also got up earlier than should really be technically allowed for a weekend to wait in line to get tickets to Matilda. IT WAS WORTH IT. First of all, the tickets only cost £5, so that's a steal considering the usual rate of £30+. Seeing the musical just made me remember what an important story Matilda is for children to read and see, because Roald Dahl doesn't sugar coat it. He tells it like it is. Sometimes school sucks and parents suck and people are mean. But equally, sometimes we have friends and teachers and experiences that are wonderful. Not to mention the fact that the 10 year olds in the cast were more talented than I'll ever be.

Her being here also made me really think about what I like about London, what I want to do with people when they come here, what I want to show them. Because living here it just becomes home. I go to work, I got to class, go about my daily routine without really thinking about the parts that I like or hate about London. But seeing through Maylen's eyes made me appreciate the city again, from a whole new angle than I used to. My initial love was based on wide eyed awe and the newness of being here. Now I have favorite places and don't have to look at a map and love it because it feels like home.

Valentine's Day at Galross House

Emily and I!

This weekend I took the bus up to Oxford to visit my good friend Emily who is studying away there for the semester, which is a surprisingly easy and affordable thing to do. Yay for countries that don't rely on cars to travel!  The only trouble came from the fact that it was (predictably) pouring rain and I had to stand at an uncovered bus station for about twenty minutes getting splashed by passing cars. It was glamorous.



Emily took me on a quick walking tour of Oxford, but I'm looking forward to going back with class in April for a few reasons. One, the weather might be better and I can look at the beautiful buildings without trying to withstand gale-force winds. Two, I might be able to see the famous Christchurch fields which are currently the Christchurch lakes due to the immense flooding. What I did see struck me, however, because it is so different from London. The focus on buildings for academia and scholarship result in different design schemes, and even today the place has a kind of "college town" feel to it.

Winner of most unhealthy dinner ever award

It happened to be Valentine's Day when I visited, as well as the birthday of two of the girls who live with Emily (there are nine of them on the program renting the same house together). To celebrate we did what any self-respecting college students would do: we made waffles and went dancing. Of all American foods, I think I miss waffles and pancakes the most. It's not that they don't have them here, it's just that they're different, and usually a snack rather than breakfast material. My first club experience was better than you might imagine, especially after we discovered the "cheesy music" dance floor, which was much more my style.

The residents of Galross House

The trip just made me think about my program and the things that I like about it (most things) and what I wish was different (not too much). Emily's program is just so different from mine. It made me really grateful for the Fraser family that I live with, because Emily doesn't really get the full living in England experience. And it made me wish I could do more cooking. Because waffles are amazing.

My Harrow Home

Since I've been here a full week, it's probably time I talk about my living situation, since it's a big part of my life over here.  I live in Harrow, which is a suburb just north of central London. I love the house-it's very English, meaning it is tall and narrow with terrifying stairs that will probably kill me. It's got five bedrooms (and a total of 8 beds), which means it's really large for the city. It's painted really brightly, all the walls are different colors and there are bright pictures everywhere.  It also has a sizable garden (English for "backyard") which I haven't really been able to enjoy because it's been horribly rainy and cold.

My room, which I share with my roommate Jordan (who is wonderful) is the attic room, meaning it's up  two flights of scary stairs and the ceilings are charmingly if somewhat dangerously slanted. Two beds, two desks, and a shared dresser and some really great skylights. The radiators only come on about once a day though, so it is FREEZING. All the time. Coldcoldcold. When they do come on Jordanne and I bring our laptops and blankets down and nest next to them.

The family I live with is lovely as well. Patricia and Finlay Fraser are fairly Irish and have four kids, three of whom I've met. Helen is the oldest at 20, and is usually in Sheffield studying maths at university but has been home for the week and I really like her. Her teenage years were basically just an episode of the TV show Skins, however, which is very dramatic.  Grace is the next oldest (also away at uni) and the most mysterious-I kind of see her as the golden child of the family the way everyone else talks about her. Will update you on if she has a halo, ect.

Alice and I

Alice (10 years old) and Michael (15) are the two Jordanne and I have the most contact with. As in, they are both in my room right now as I type this, eating our chocolate and playing on Jordanne's GameBoy. Alice is into street dancing and Instagram, Michael likes video games and he's quite good at art. He also goes to an all boy's school in Harrow that sounds horrible. HORRIBLE. Boys are so mean to each other. I quite enjoy having the two of them around, there's never a dull moment. In fact, the whole house is always pretty lively with seven of us here at the moment and friends and grandparents always dropping by, which is really fun.

They've been boarding students from varying countries for almost ten years, which is really strange to me. It means that Alice and Michael have grown up with just random people around all the time for almost their whole lives. Some stay for a week, some (like us) for a few months. It's strange to imagine, but also kind of awesome-they've built up a network of people they know all over the world.

Bits and Bobs

I'll write a more comprehensive blog post later, but here are a few "bits and bobs," as the English would say, from my first few days in London.

My corner of our little attic room 

My roommate and home stay family are lovely. Patricia, my mum, is really nice as is Finlay, her husband. They've got 4 kids, 2 of whom are at home frequently (the other 2 are at university). Alice is 10 and Michael is 15. They're funny kids and we talk a lot and watch Top Gear together.

I take back everything bad I ever said about the Tube. It's the best piece of machinery ever made and all towns should have one. The Tube plus an Oyster card equals absolute freedom and access to the whole city. Having said that, the opposite is true right now. There's a strike for two days this week and two next week and I'm told it will be commuter hell. I have to make my way into central London early in the morning, so I think I'll be able to consider myself a real Londoner if I can make it.

AHA London Centre

The AHA London Centre, where we attend classes (or where we will, once they start), it also lovely.
Perfectly centrally located and built in something like 1750, it's a really cool, old building. It's a bit shabby, but that just adds to its charm.

Today was our last day or orientation, and our site director Susie took us for lunch at a street market (I got curry-delicious), then for a quick tour of the surrounding area, capping it off with a visit to the Chesire Cheese Pub, an amazing old pub where you have to duck down several flights of really narrow, low-ceilinged stairs to get to the bottom. She even bought us the first round.

It's early days (and we'll see how I feel after living through the Tube strike), but I already love London. I'm really excited to explore it more in depth over my next couple of months here.

My roommate Jordanne and I with the iconic London symbol: the phone box.

Last Minute Panic

It's not a Rachel trip without a good last minute panic. Obviously, everything is going to be fine, ect, ect, but I STILL MUST PANIC. It's little things, really. I didn't start packing up my dorm room until last night, so it was a rush to get it done. My suitcase is smaller than I remembered so I can't take as much stuff as I wanted (there will be a upcoming post on "stuff," I'm sure, and how I'm doing without a lot of it). Then my suitcase ripped when I was repacking it. I'm still not sure it's going to be under 50 pounds. I just keep telling myself that it's going to be okay, EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

On a positive note, I had some really excellent goodbyes before I left. The first wave was my lovely friends we refer to as the Ordal Crew, who came in just like the big, loud, inappropriate family that they are and gave me lots of love and hugs. Later the other half of my friends came by for ice cream and an entire package of Oreos. Also gummy worms. It just made me realize how much I really love my friends-every one of them. I don't know how common it is to really like your friends (I imagine it's less common than I like to think), but I'm so glad that I do.

Next time you hear from me, I'll be in London! Wish me luck!

Small Town Girl, Big City Lights

Let’s play a fun little comparison game.

	My Hometown	London
Population	~12,000	8 million
% of white people	Hovering around 85%	Less than 50%
# of horses per person	Like, at least 5	I’m assuming less than that

I’m not besmirching my hometown. I like it there. It’s nice and pretty and quiet. But it has done nothing in the way of giving me street smarts or navigation abilities or diversity education or any other helpful, big-city skills. Frankly, I’ve already beaten the odds by leaving it to go to college somewhere else. Here’s another helpful demonstration:

Key:

Red-elementary school

Purple-middle school

Green-high school

Blue-college

I’m assuming that the more observant among you have noticed that these are all on one street. If you go to college to become a nurse, you can work at the hospital, which is right above the elementary school. You can feasibly live your entire life on a single street.  Which, again, I’m not saying is a BAD thing, but it’s certainly a thing.

Anyway, I’m just hoping that this provides you all with a little insight into why I’m a weensy little bit freaked out to live in London. More excited than scared, but it’s just something that is the tiniest little bit outside my sphere of experience, not to mention comfort. Just a little. But you know, stretch, grow, build character, live daringly, ect.

I’m gonna grab life by the horns, y’all. Just, like, a little bit timidly.

Anxiety Girl

Let’s get one thing straight: I am a worrier. I’m fairly sure this is a genetic trait, or at least learned, because I am only the most recent in a long line of worriers. In high school, my friends dubbed me Anxiety Girl. It was meant to make me a kind of superhero—Anxiety Girl! Able to leap to conclusions in a single bound!—but we tend to refer to it more like my version of Dexter’s Dark Passenger (albeit a considerably less bloody version). “How’s Anxiety Girl today? Anxiety Girl reared her ugly head in calc. Tell Anxiety Girl to take a step back for a second.” I am compelled to worry. If there wasn’t something to worry about…I’m not actually sure what would happen, because there is always something to worry about.

Now. Apply this to extended transatlantic travel. Doesn’t sound good, right? Luckily, Anxiety Girl has so far kept it in check. Knock on wood, cross my palms with salt, whatever warding-away-evil trick you prefer. But this has created an interesting phenomenon. I’m worried that I will worry too much to enjoy my trip. Objectively, I can realize how ridiculous this is. I’m preemptively freaking out that I will freak out too much while studying abroad to enjoy it. Objectivity, however, is kind of an elusive state.

I’ve tried your typical controls for this-yoga (least flexible person on the planet), meditation (clear your mind, yeah right), ect, and had little luck. The best cure, I’ve discovered, it being around other people who don’t share this worry gene. The kryptonite for anxiety, at least for me, is a chill friend. Someone who will look skeptically at me while I sob because we’ve missed our tube stop (I have a public transportation thing) and be all like, “Dudebro. It’s fine. We’ll catch the next one.”

So here’s to all the cool and composed people in the world who keep my special brand of crazy under control, and here’s hoping one of your kind will befriend me in London. Please. I need you.